Long Bonfire Poems
Long Bonfire Poems. Below are the most popular long Bonfire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bonfire poems by poem length and keyword.
As the sun rises on the distant horizon like a match spark that is thrown into a
bonfire...a bonfire saturated in an accelerant...Bright red casting color onto the
dark ominous clouds chasing them away..May I depend on the Son today to
chase all problems, fears, anxieties into a place of non-existence. In so doing
my life will be fuller, happier and there will be contentment of heart and
mind..Over on the horizon it seems that the clouds are gone and the sun is
shining brightly but over me the clouds linger with dampness and cool air..The
cool morn is a glorious good time to think and work.The son is rising up farther
now and the clouds are closing in on it...There is one streak of the sun in a
break in the clouds that looks like a lazar beam flashing forth..There's
something about this moment and configuration of the heavenlies that is so
soothing to my spirit...This moment will pass into eternity...Will I be the only
one that shared this color, design, and precise moment with God and the
angels...
c r e s t f a l l e n
lapis lazuli
w
a
v
e
s
lap
against pearlized
ivory shores
strands of forest-green
s e a w e e d
dot
the beachside
as an i r i d e s c e n t
sunset
d
i
p
s
over the
shrinking horizon
s p r i n k l i n g
its dwindling rays
over the dunes
fragrances of beach rose
dance playfully in the
b r e e z e
saline-infused mist
tantalizes the
tongue
whilst s i l k e n sand
slumbers beneath
my feet
embers ignite
like lightning bugs
from a roaring bonfire
the majestic call of
gulls s a i l s
amongst the flames
nature's eloquent beauty
envelops a drained h e a r t
breathing new life
into an ancient soul
an oasis under
kaleidoscopic stellar evolution
She started a screenplay but it got insanely boring,
So she flipped to a clean page and began a novel.
By page two she could not bear it. It was not making sense.
I will write a poem, she thought.
Poems came easily. They were shorter. They did not bore her.
The punchlines were fast and clever. She wrote twelve poems.
This satisfied her urge more than a bit. She kept writing poetry.
A poetess now, self-imposed.
She hid them away for years. They were hers, not to be shared.
Let me see one, a friend begged. And begged. And begged.
She relented, and almost no comments were made.
An occasional “hmmmmm” which was not satisfying at all.
She did not show her poems again for a long long time.
The people who professed to love her the most were the most critical
When she did. They began to write poems too. They bragged about theirs
Which were so much better than hers.
Anyway that is what she thought.
She was totally wrong.
Died with a plethora of poems that were insanely good
Not knowing this at all.
They were burned in a bonfire by her nieces and nephews.
Many who could not read, and some who did not read
Even though they could have if they had wanted to
Which is more the pity.
Midst kaleidoscopic radiance
Inviting wondrous soul-searching pursuit
Cheering sincere hearts with forgiveness’ glow
While drawing blissful worshippers to the Sovereign …
The bonfire has witnessed our consecration-fall to the Almighty.
Beholding changes in life’s seasons
Along spiritual transformation through faith
Encountered by believers of the Saviour and Lord…
The bonfire has heard triumphant grateful testimonies
On how we did fall in love with Christ Jesus Who first loved us.
Around bonfire for service commitment
Huddled God’s servants pleading for revival…
There we were, falling freely in earnest prayer-quest
Trusting the Divine Providence to answer by His mercy and grace
Since He does wondrous* deeds, displaying such in our “Autumnless” country.
*Psalm 86:10 For thou art great, and doest wondrous things: thou art God alone.
September 20, 2022
When time flies, feelings of euphoria,
spur jaw-dropping habitus within,
vision of nirvana on groundswell earth,
chirping bird amber tone on hedgerow,
cacophony that piercing aural backdrop,
riotry of wild bewitching warble,
golden fronted leaf, black nape oriole,
northern red bishop,
snapshot or sedation, honey dribbled spatula,
that ladles satin eardrums,
as momentary plot unveils its kernel,
fleeting countdown to ecstatic charm,
mesmerising tailspin gust bract swirl,
of diamond stud color burst variety,
time lag is an instinct riven leap,
lustrous spark escape hatch mere sprint,
who could be immune to such splendour,
embellishment or antic flourish,
folly swept aside in brisk stanza,
hyperbole on jewel rim chariot,
passenger in situ juggling spheres,
morning dew mist clad bank enchantment,
divinity in spiral foam waterfall trance,
speckled moon’s transient blind soar,
amid hall of mirror dream cloud etching,
bonfire of imagining without rein,
infant echo chamber left me thunderstruck,
lightning flash recall as I shudder,
with ardent inkling of toddler stopwatch era,
parental caper, boisterous shriek,
blue stain paddle boat capsized,
guffaws at the peak of silver rush,
backscatter on a prior and current bloom,
like a reckless swimmer’s wild swipe,
at a grazed iron metal lifebuoy,
whose toss and turn gyration high jinx,
another symbol for the heaven in one’s palm,
that vanishes as soon as it clocks in.
Dance along the seashore
Sleep beneath the stars
Your heart shall be an open door
No matter where you are
Your voice is like a waterfall
Your laughter, how it flows
And love is precious, after all
Blooming like a rose
Stop and smell the ocean breeze
As you gather shells and jade
Then seek out eucalyptus trees
And sojourn in their shade
Build a bonfire on the beach
And dream awake all night
Till stars and flames fade out of reach
Replaced by morning’s light
Don’t let burdens break your wings
And keep your halo shined
For Heaven’s made of all the things
We strive on earth to find
Love and laughter, faith and friends
Happiness and home
And hope this feeling never ends
Unlike this humble poem.
And so it is, that both the Devil and the angelic Spirit present us with objects of desire to awaken our power of choice. There is an invisible strength within us; when it recognizes two opposing objects of desire, it grows stronger.
Rumi
Weeds persecute the gardens of my mind,
bad seeds are instigators for the unkind,
so, I plant vibrant petals for tomorrow,
did you know blossoms can feel sorrow?
I support them to bloom in delicate silence,
but strange paranoia is a relic of violence.
It hurts when withheld wounds are exposed,
life is better when I keep my eyes closed.
Should I apologise for my sullen demeanor,
so they can misjudge and become meaner?
I've become a misunderstood metaphor,
in a world of words not understood before.
I'm not an angelic devil nor a sinful saint,
but sense of shame is like polluted paint.
I'm tired from deadly brain sucking vampires,
draining my reservoir of peaceful empires.
Will it ever dawn upon the ignorant,
if I could turn back time it would be different.
In childhood we painted our faces on stars,
some looked for Venus, but I preferred Mars.
How we followed a colourful spectrum's shadow,
wondering if rain flows along the rainbow.
But in time imagination loses it's power,
we expire like dead seeds and forget to flower.
Is the pantomime of pain I've endured not plenty?
Can guilt bleed me dry, until all my sins empty?
Set me free from confines of jilted desire,
release me from burning in regret's bonfire.
Madness of my muse will never disown me.
In this hell I smile, as I still have my poetry.
Stomach-wrenching body blows dog those
blighted by endemic fiasco,,
grim dervish whirl of death a maybe one day royal flush,
predicament that hoodoo mark in frozen ink,
cataclysmic episode relentless as unfolding bleak plot,
monumental exploits somehow never quite transpire,
catalogue of hair-brained schemes hatched,
bearing doomed lugubrious stamp,
dream laden Walter Mitty high wire act,
accomplishment on Richter scale peak,
yearned from one’s deep canyon gut,
now faint spark ashen bonfire residue,
gilt-edge province fosters stainless steel chariot endeavour,
before mockery of ego rejection slips encroach,
painstaking gumption beyond familiar human norms boomerang,
mishap strewn pathways evince ghoulish graveyard howl,
magic is anathema to wretched soul oppressed by contretemps,
reverse that coy euphemism for continuous blunt flop,
Midas gold tarnished outlier but gutter bound nightmare,
subconscious eerie whisper that most rough cast turnscrew,
havoc wreaking spiral to amorphous gridlock,
blunder prone DNA blueprint askew,
self-esteem a rudderless craft whose
guile is rent on wicked sea,
photo finish phantom world frustration,
triumph that slippy eel marsh light,
almost there whiff of breath podium glory,
yet tantalising distance an abject sandbank,
one can only shudder, tender ocean womb mourning,
for such victims of satanic wrongful bind,
whose chilling lack baffles earthborn portrait
An antique shovel pushes into sacred dirt,
sprinkled with cinnamon and crushed obsidian rose petals,
while a blazing bonfire roars,
lighting up the night sky.
Ravens watch with intense scrutiny,
the voices in my head quieting,
as snakes slither around my neck.
Opening a weathered pouch,
I remove ceremonial offerings:
bottles of blood-red wine and pristine garnets.
I place them among shedded snake skin,
gingerly replacing the earthen soil.
The intoxicating scent of dragon's blood surrounds me.
Orange flames crackle, mutating into the deepest blues.
Claret clouds partially cover the full moon.
Shadows of ebony horns dance within the in-between.
Melodious gothic hymns fill an anticipating soul.
Warm breath flirts with the back of my neck.
Razor-sharp nails gently glide against pale flesh.
A beautifully savage silhouette forms in the corner of my eye.
Tonight, I dance with Lilith
among the ashes of glorious destruction.
Dark sky above our heads, where slashes let dawn bleed through,
Like droplets of metallic blood seeping into bodies and mind,
We look and search ,seeking the source and what we may find.
Laying upon the sands of time memories are left behind,
Lost forever in physical form never again to grace the earth,
Everything gone caught up in ether ending only in lonely death.
Whose fault is this ?
Who do we blame ?
Driving us to be completely insane.
Lost in labyrinths of confusing thoughts,
Sense is frozen in corporate mazes,
Burned to oblivion in bonfire blazes.
We reach out?
We search out?
Still the truth is a hidden concept hidden away in deepest vaults,
Seen only by the privileged few paying the piper at the gates.
© andrew p mcintyre 4 June 2017.